Proxy
by aisobel
Summary: "When I asked you why you were here last night, you said you were crossing off items from your to To Do Before I'm Actually Dead bucket list." - House's mother has a stroke seventeen months after Wilson's death.


When Cameron went back home after dropping Brian at preschool, House was sprawled on her couch, going through her work tablet. He didn't acknowledge her until she walked over to the coffee table next to him and put down a paper bag and a styrofoam cup. He looked up at her above the rim of his glasses before reaching for the cup and the bag. From this angle, he had a perfect view of the hickey right below her ear. "I hope you had a stern talk with your evolutionary seal of approval about the inappropriateness of imitating cripples."

Her reply was a flat non sequitur. "You're still here."

"You can't be that surprised, you brought me a sandwich." A Reuben, he noticed. Cold, no pickles. Earlier, he'd objected to all the healthy crap in her fridge. She also remembered how he liked his coffee.

House moved his legs to make a little room for her on the couch, but she chose to a take a chair instead.

He watched as she absentmindedly reached around for a stray pair of Pokemon socks and a Jake the Dog plush toy from the floor. "You were encouraging him. You told him to practice with a broom as a cane," she told the floorboard. "He's three, it's going to be hell to convince him to stop." There was a moment of silence when all she did was roll the socks into a ball, avoiding House's eyes, so the straightforwardness that followed took him by surprise.

"When I asked you why you were here last night, you said you were crossing off items from your to To Do Before I'm Actually Dead bucket list. I assumed you'd crossed off what you came here to cross off," she shrugged. "What else?"

He'd crossed off an item, all right. She'd been almost exactly how he'd expected her to be. Ridiculously pretty, soft, pliable and sweet. So sweet. Pregnancy had added a few curves to her silhouette that were new to him, but other than that, his imagination had done a 8/10 speculative job. It could have easily been an old fantasy turned reality. One where he actually dared to touch her with his hands instead of through his cane or a robot in a voyeuristic soft-core BDSM scenario.

"Yeah," he quipped, "I figured I'd better get that one out of the way before you lost your looks."

She just blinked tiredly at him and repeated, "What else?"

House picked up her work tablet - he'd left it resting on his chest - and handed it to her. "I added notes to some of your case files. Your thoroughness when it comes to filling out paper work still borders on compulsion, by the way." He took a big bite from the sandwich and chewed for a bit. "There's also a new a folder. It's my mother's medical file."

House watched her tense up with concern, crossing her arms tightly. Such familiar body language. "Relax, she's fine. She's had a minor stroke, but she's fully recovered."

Cameron didn't relax. "But you're here because you're worried about the next time," she guessed.

"No evidence to support an old theory of mine that she might be a Highlander, no," he said as confirmation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I'm a dead man." House meant it in more ways than one and made sure Cameron got it when he looked straight at her. "I've told her to make you her health care proxy. She'll do it as long as you're ok with it."

"What?!" Cameron's pretty face could always blend bewilderment and reproach so well. "Recycling Foreman's old ideas now? Can't forge her signature? I can't believe you'd even dare suggest this to your mother, put her in this position. She barely knows me!"

"Of course she knows you, you're the nice young lady who used to work for me, who proclaimed her undying love for me at my funeral and who's been sending her flowers on her birthday and Christmas cards for the past two years. I think that covers the essentials."

He could tell he'd hit a nerve so sore it sometimes crippled her. Cameron looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole, leaving no trace of her pathetic existence.

They had a short, silent exchange that consisted of SCREW YOU and we've just been there, but it was all Cameron had in her. She flat out threw in the towel after that.

She took a deep, resigned breath, got up and started walking away, leaving the ball of socks and poor Jake on the chair in her place. "Fine," she sighed. She wasn't really adressing him anymore. "Fine."

"Never in doubt," he commented triumphantly to her retreating back.

Then he felt like shit.

It hadn't taken a lot of snooping around her apartment to learn that Cameron was being treated for depression. That motherhood was overwhelming her. That the father of her child worked in publishing and had moved to Seoul. That the decision to end her third marriage wasn't hers. That twenty-two out of her twenty-nine phone contacts were work and child care related. That she probably worried her son would grow up to be another man she was utterly devoted to but who couldn't love her back.

He'd once told her that he wasn't going to crush her, but he'd never been good at handling anything with care.

When he decided he'd given her more than enough time alone to recompose, he found her intently going through the laundry hamper, separating the whites. He noticed the pink stripped sheet from last night was already in there.

"I know that the ongoing pity party isn't about me, I just crashed it and made it messier."

Cameron didn't turn to look at him. "You're still here. What else?"

"There's a post-it with my number on your dresser, next to your stethoscope. Call me when you have cases like your funky feet ulcers guy or your pituitary apoplexy guy. Oh, and send me pictures of the stupid people who shove stupid things into their orifices in brand new stupid ways, those can always brighten anyone's day."

That made her stop and turn her head to face him. Her eyes and whole expression went soft, like she was seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time in ages. "I know I've said this before, but I'm sorry about Wilson."

He gave a short nod. "And I'm sorry your taste in men is crap."

Aaaaand back to the dirty laundry she went. "I get what I deserve," she muttered. She opened her mouth again to say something else, seemed to think better of it, then went for it anyway. "I know you've seen the board in Brian's room. It's one of yours. Chase sent it to me."

House thinks she must have lost a few seconds there, because when he came back to reality, he could feel Cameron's hand cradling his face, a thumb gently caressing his stubble. He closed his eyes and leaned into it.

God, he'd missed her.


End file.
